


Love You Too, Gallagher

by UnAuteur



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Fluff, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Substance Abuse, drunk fluff, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 02:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2450678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnAuteur/pseuds/UnAuteur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mick?" Ian's voice is quiet, barely there, but the words vibrate against Mickey's skin and he sighs. </p>
<p>"Mm?" he mumbles, fingers carding lazily through ginger hair. </p>
<p>"I love you," Ian says it so absent-mindedly, so casually, like it's not a big deal. And it is a big fucking deal. But he's drunk and high and probably won't even remember this in the morning. So Mickey ducks his head down, kisses Ian's head, smiles. </p>
<p>"Love you too, Gallagher," he whispers, into his hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love You Too, Gallagher

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly 'cause I didn't want to wait until Season 5 to hear this >.

Mickey's home alone, watching some dumb old horror movie, when the phone rings. 

He's glad there' nobody else home, 'cause the shrill sound of it fucking startles him to the point he jumps about half a foot out of his seat. When he regains composure, actually starts to breathe like a human, he picks it up, expecting Mandy or Ian. 

"Yeah?" he says, annoyed that whoever the fuck this is frightened him so much. 

"Mickey?" It's a Gallagher. Just not the right one. 

"Lip?" he's confused. The hell does Lip Gallagher need to be calling him for? His heart rate picks up. Ian's gone for a night out with some friends from work tonight. Somebody's birthday, or something. Mickey was tempted to join him, not 'cause he likes Ian's annoying-ass fucking friends, but because he wanted to look after his boyfriend. He had to remind himself that Ian's taking his Lithium now. And he's a grown-ass man, more or less. He doesn't need to be looked after. Or, if Lip is calling Mickey, maybe he does. Oh God. "Is it Ian? Is he okay?" 

"Yeah. He's fine," Lip says. There's the sound of someone retching in the background, a voice - he thinks Debbie's, but he's not sure - soothing somebody. "Okay. Not  _fine._ But he's alright. He won't come home, he keeps asking for you. How fast can you get to the Alibi?"

"Be there in ten minutes," Mickey doesn't even wait to hear Lip's reply before he hangs up, doesn't even grab a jacket on his way out of the front door. 

* * *

When Mickey arrives at The Alibi Room, he finds Ian bent almost double, one hand braced against the wall the other being loosely clasped by a panicked-looking Debbie. Lip's hand rests between Ian's shoulderblades and he's obviously trying to be comforting. His face lights up when he sees Mickey approach, and he helps Ian stand straight. 

"Look, Ian. Look who it is," he says, and Ian's unfocused eyes meet Mickey's. He smiles. 

"Mickey!" he staggers forwards a couple of steps, collapses against Mickey,  who's arms fold protectively around his waist. 

"Hey there, Pukey," Mickey says. "Heard you were asking for me." 

"Wanna come home with you," Ian rights himself, gets a little more stability on his feet, plans his hands on Mickey's shoulders. 

"Sure. Okay. You can come home with me," Mickey says. It'll be nice to have some company, a warm body to curl around in bed. The heater's busted again, and the house is so damn cold. But Ian's being weird. The way he was before he was on the lithium, before Mickey was taking care of him. Mickey sighs. "Shit, Gallagher. What have you taken?" 

"I don't... I dunno," Ian confesses. He moves closer, so they're pressed up together, leans his head on Mickey's shoulder. "Just want to go to bed. Go to bed with you." 

"Okay. Okay, come on. Let's get you home," Mickey says. He knows Ian can stay upright, but he doesn't trust him to walk in a damn straight line, so he picks up the redhead bridal-style. He clears his throat, looks over to the other two Gallaghers. "I got this." 

And he heads briskly back home. 

* * *

Mickey's strong, and Ian's not heavy, but he's heavy enough that he slows the journey down by a good five minutes. The whole way, Ian is nuzzling into Mickey's neck, muttering stuff into Mickey's ear that's doing absolutely sinful stuff in Mickey's pants, but he's not gonna rise to the bait, so to speak. However horny Ian thinks he is right now, what he really needs is a wash and a drink of water and a good night's sleep. Probably some Tylenol for good measure. So he just replies with nods and mumbles and 'yeah, okay's, until he gets Ian inside and sets him down on the couch. He brings Ian a glass of water and a couple of Tylenol pills, but they go ignored. Instead, Ian hooks his fingers round Mickey's knees, tugs gently. Mickey's not expecting it and he lands - as he expects Ian wants - straddling Ian's lap. 

"Ian..." he sighs, trying to stand, but Ian's hands press into the small of his back, keeping him in place. 

"No, baby. Stay," Ian says. "Wanna... wanna look at you."

"I don't need to be here for you to-" Mickey begins, but he's cut off by a finger pressing over his lips. 

"So pretty. Gorgeous," Ian runs his finger across Mickey's mouth, strokes his cheeks, and it's enough to silence Mickey's protests. "I'm so lucky." 

"Ian..." this time, it's not a protest. As a rule, Mickey doesn't really do affection further than the odd kiss and frequent post-fuck cuddles. But they're alone. Just him and Ian. So he allows himself a rare thing, a moment of emotional tenderness. He brings his hands up, cradles Ian's neck, plants a chaste kiss on the redhead's lips. "I'm luckier." 

It's barely more than a breath. But Ian catches it. Smiles. Kisses Mickey back. Then, quite suddenly, Mickey is shoved out of Ian's lap and Ian is on his feet, dashing towards the bathroom. He only just makes it in time to avoid spewing all over the floor. Mickey clicks his tongue, sighs. He takes the glass to his bedroom, sets it down on what has become Ian's side, then goes to the bathroom and strokes Ian's back until he's done being sick. 

When he's done, Mickey manoeuvres Ian to bed, lays down beside him under the blanket, allows Ian to snuggle up, bury his face in Mickey's neck as if he's trying to burrow his way through the pale flesh. They're quiet, and it's comfortable, intimate. Mickey thinks Ian's asleep. Then

"Mick?" Ian's voice is quiet, barely there, but the words vibrate against Mickey's skin and he sighs.

"Mm?" he mumbles, fingers carding lazily through ginger hair.

"I love you," Ian says it so absent-mindedly, so casually, like it's not a big deal. And it _is_ a big fucking deal. But he's drunk and high and probably won't even remember this in the morning. So Mickey ducks down, kisses Ian's head, smiles.

"Love you too, Gallagher," he whispers, into his hair.

* * *

Ian wakes late this morning, pads out of the bedroom to find Mickey making breakfast in sweatpants and no shirt. He smiles, rubs his head. 

"Got any Tylenol?" he asks, just as Mickey slides a couple of pills across to him. "What happened last night?" 

"I got a call from your brother," Mickey shrugs. "You were out of your head and apparently you refused to go home. Kept asking for me. Thanks for feeding my ego and all, but I had to haul your drunk ass all the way back here. You owe me." 

"Sorry," Ian grins, sheepish, and Mickey kisses his forehead. 

"Nah, it's okay," he says, grinning. He bites his lip. "So you really remember nothing, huh?" 

"Not after we left the White Swallow," Ian shrugs, attacks the plate of food Mickey sets down in front of him. When they've eaten and Ian's just about to go out of his run, he pauses, presses a kiss to Mickey's lips. 

"I meant it, you know," he says, and he doesn't have to clarify. Mickey smiles.

"Yeah. I did too," he says, and it's rare that the two of them have a conventionally romantic moment, but that's what seems to be happening now. Mickey feels kind of uncomfortable but not in a horrible way, so he has to ruin in. 

"Now go on. Get the fuck outta here. I'll see you later." 

When Ian reaches the end of the path and realises Mickey is still watching him, he turns. Grins. 

"I love you, Mickey Milkovich!" he says it loud enough for the whole damn neighbourhood to hear. Normally Mickey would be embarrassed. But now, he finds himself laughing. 

"I love you too, you fucking dick." 


End file.
